


One Red Rose

by Lady_of_Mischief, Phantom of the Opera (DoctorsWife63)



Category: Phantom of the Opera (2004)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-02 06:14:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10938669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_of_Mischief/pseuds/Lady_of_Mischief, https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorsWife63/pseuds/Phantom%20of%20the%20Opera





	1. Chapter 1

"It is with great pride and pleasure that I may welcome Stella Noir, whose voice is more angel than human, to the stage." A woman, with Raven black curly hair that touched her waist stepped out onto stage, clad in a dress that was fit for a queen. The audience went silent, and her beauty radiated from everywhere touching everyone and everything in its path, causing the breath from the audience to be stolen from their lips.  
"I was here five years ago-" Her voice was soft and sweet, exactly like any angels would be, and everyone who heard stilled and focused their attention onto the woman on the stage. "And was greatly inspired by a young woman whose name was Christine Date, and this song" she continues and gestures around her but quickly regained her delicate pressure. "Was the first song I heard her sing." The lights dim and a spotlight is put on her, there's a movement in box five, which for many years, even before her first visit to the opera house, has remained empty, only rumors surround it. She puts the thought aside and opens her mouth to sing Think of Me, the same song that inspired her singing career. As she finished her last few words of the song she caught more movement in box five. She made a mental note to herself she'd have to ask someone about box five again and get a direct answer.  
"Merci Madameousille Noir. That was very beautiful." She shook his hand and exited the stage. She was greeted by two of her closest friends, Meg, and her mother, Madame Giry. Christine was off in America performing, and she wouldn't be back for a while, but Stella was happy for her, she was living her dream and Raoul was there with her.  
"Madame Giry, may I talk to you separately?" She gives her a warm smile.  
"Of course, mon enfant." She grabs Stella's hand. "But shall we go somewhere a little more quiet perhaps?" Stella nods and they walk out and into the grand entrance, where the only people who were there were ushers directing people to their seats. They took a seat on the bench.  
"I see you're still going by your stage name."  
"Oui, I do not like using my real name, it is to me personal, and it should only be for people I know. Like you Madame Giry." She winks at the lady sitting front of her on the bench.  
"My dear Estelle, what would I ever do if I lost you?" Her real name Estelle Francis Chantrice.  
"I do not know ma mere." Estelle never knew her mother or father, she was orphaned ever since she could remember, but to her surprise and relief, she was taken in and welcomed into a home, a musical home at that. She became perfect on the piano, and excelled at singing, but her voice never took off until six years ago when she started to receive lessons.  
"What is it you need to speak to me about?" Estelle looked down to her hands, they were clamy. She had no reason to be nervous, bone at all, but she was. She wrung her hands together.  
"I've been told no one is to fill box five." She starts and Madame Giry nods.  
"You've been told correct."  
"Then why, when I was singing, did I see movement?" Her eyes widened, and then she quickly became defensive.  
"You must be imagining things my dear, no one has sat in that box for years."  
"And why would that be ma mere?"  
"I do not know my dear." She stiffened.  
"But, you've worked here all your life, have you not?" She nodded. "Surely you must know something."  
"My child, they are but rumors, and you know as well as any other person that rumors only grow."  
"Then let me hear of this rumor that you so carefully speak of." The opera had ended and people were filling out and Madame Giry grabbed her hand once more and led her down many hallways before crowds could catch up to them. They came to a room and she shoved Estelle in there.  
"We shall talk tomorrow about this so called rumor that you ask of me. Until then, goodnight, my dear." She closed the door and Estelle went to sit down on the blue couch accented with gold.  
"Stella?" She abruptly stood up and Monsieur Firmin and Andre walk through the dear with a bundle of flowers and roses in their arms. Not as if her room wasn't filled with enough flowers and chocolates as it was. They close the door behind them, avoiding all the paparazzi.  
"You sing like an angel!" Firmin said.  
"Absolutely beautiful, are you sure you're human? You're talent is beyond human." Andre said in accordance with him.  
"Oh, monsieurs, thank you. But I must assure you that my voice is human, nothing inhuman about it." Her deep red lips formed into an eye touching smile.  
"We've decided to host a ball for you." Firmin said, and Andre nodded his head.  
"A ball?"  
"For all the support and attention you've brought us, yes. We are forever in your debt, so we think you deserve this." Firmin continued.  
"Is there anything in particular you would like?" Stella thought about it, she had never in her thirty two years of her life been to masquerade, and oh, how she longed for one.  
"Can it be a masquerade ball, I've never been to one, and I think it would be absolutely magical to have one." They both grimaced.  
"We haven't had one in three or four years, and the last we had…" Andre trailed off but Firmin stepped forward and grabbed Stella's hands. He stared into her light blue stormy eyes. Her eyes were like sea foam swirling on top of the ocean. Beautiful yet dark and dangerous.  
"We had an incident, but that was years ago, and we will be fine. Your wish is our command, it will be a masquerade." She hugged him.  
"Thank you." Andre walks out of the room and Firmin follows shortly, but Stella stops him.  
"Monsieur, why do you keep box five empty?" Firmin straightens his posture and turns back around to face Stella.  
"Ever since we took control of the theater, we have been instructed to keep it empty, one time we didn't, and our star singer before Mrs. Dear, she started croaking like a frog, we've learned to never fill it. It's bad luck simply. Nothing to worry about. Bonnuit, mademoiselle Noir."  
"Goodnight." They close the door and she locks it behind them. She walks back over to the couch but catches a white letter sitting on her desk.  
Her real name was on beautiful script, and she recognized the writing, it was Christine's. She smiled at it, missing one if her best friends.  
My dear Estelle,  
I've heard you were going to be here, and I cannot say how excited I am for you. I believe you will enjoy your time here.  
I will be returning from the states and will be back Friday, I have so much to tell you. So many amazing things I've experienced, and seen. The people I've met.  
I've forgotten til just now, but if weird things start to happen, you must immediately report to Madame Giry, and Monsieur Andre and Firmin. Do not dig into the past, only bad things is what you'll uncover.  
I cannot wait to see you my old friend.  
Christine.  
She folded the letter up and set it back down on her desk.  
She pulled her nightwear out and changed into it, and the climbed into bed. As she went to blow the candle out in her room, a rose sat next to the candle. It was bright red with a black bow on it. It was gorgeous. It didn't have a tag or letter with it. Out of all the flowers it was the single rose she liked the most. She felt tired all of a sudden, and she blew out the candle passing the rose from her mind, and falling asleep.


	2. Deux

The week flew by and before Stella knew it, it was Friday, and the anticipation towards tonight's ball only grew. She was merely a child waiting for Christmas, except Christmas was a masquerade ball.  
She was helping the Opera Populaire prepare for their next show, and she was to play the leading role, and so far she was doing a splendid job.  
They were going over the next scene of act two of the show, when Meg and Madame Giry walked onto the stage to see how the show was coming along. Stella immediately stopped reversal and dismissed them to prepare for tonight's ball.  
"My mere, Meg, you have to help me do d something for tonight! I am at an absolute loss." Meg grinned from ear to ear, and brushed her blonde hair out of her face. Madame Giry held her posture.  
"Now, child, we'll find something for you, come along." Madame Giry lead Stella by the hand back to her room, they had about four hours for the party, and it took them two hours to settle on one dress.  
They settled on a red silk princess dress that had black throughout the bodice. The sleeves hung on the side of the shoulder reached past the tips of her fingers, and were laced with a black shimmer. There was a neck piece that made a "v" and held the dress up. They gave her small black boots to wear and then madame Giry did her hair while Meg worked on her makeup.  
"I'm going to have a mask on, is there really a bother with makeup." Madame Giry pulled her head up to continue working on her hair.  
"Makeup is an air of confidence, and just think if you met someone tonight, you want to look your best." She blushed under the makeup and looked down to her hands where they were neatly folded in her lap. "Come now Stella, don't be shy, meeting someone at the masquerade would be so romantic." This made Stella blush even harder.  
Everything was final and they had finished a mere ten minutes before the ball started, and people were already filing in, she had her red mask on with a big black feather sticking out of the left side, and her entire put together made her look like a queen.  
"The Red Queen." Madame Giry said. "A myth and beauty all in its own."   
"Merci, ma mere." Stella replied.  
"Oh, what I would give to met someone tonight." Madame Giry rolled her eyes at the love sick daughter.  
"Come Meg, I have things to do, and so do you." She and Meg walked away leaving Stella to her herself.  
"Best day ever." She whispered under her breath, not audible for anyone else to hear but herself, and then she entered.  
IT was alive with colour, people and dancing. This is what life really should be, she thought to herself, not just boring, bit colourful and fun.  
"Stella!" She turned around to see her old friend Christine dressed in a light pink, almost tan gown. The two woman hugged each other.  
"Christine, oh how I've missed you. You must tell me everything about-" she never got to finish that statement.  
"Oh it's good to see you made it without incident." Andre spoke over Christine.  
"Yes, can't have anything happening to you now, can we?" Stella smelled at them kindly her face alive and glowing. Her black hair pulled back into many braids that eventually connected into one big braid that was then thrown in a bun. Her eyes seemed to be more alive with colour than ever before, and her eyes were right, she had never been happier.  
"Oh, thank you monsieurs, this really has made my night."  
"It was no problem at all."  
"Yes, especially since you are bringing us a ton of publicity and donation. We are forever indebted to you, Madame Noir." Firmin was enthralled about this and he couldn't stop from being so joyous. After what happened with the phantom many years ago, it looked like this could be their big break.

§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§

Madame Giry walked past Stella's room, and went inside to straighten her things up and get her room prepared for her tonight. As she tucked in the bed sheets she spotted the single rose with the black ribbon on it, on her nightstand. She walked over To it, only to pick it up and observe it.  
She knew who the rose came from, and she disappeared. She disappeared just as much Satan hated alligator is good and holy. She pocketed the flower and went about her normal business, and then was in her way to Meg's room.  
"You shouldn't take things that aren't yours." A voice said, and madame Giry, did not in fact freeze, she greeted the voice as if it were an old friend.  
"Ah, but you shouldn't be kneeling in affairs that aren't yours in the first place." She says matter of factly  
"The opera house is mine, and anything that goes on in it is my affair." Madame Giry looked around hoping to catch the person behind the house, but to no Vail could find him.  
"I must warn you, that I will do everything in my power to keep her safe and stop you."  
"Be as that may, but you're too late. She has already received my rose, and as you already know, tonight is masquerade, I can meet her without any issues." The voice switched places and madame Giry realized he was throwing his voice, which meant he was close by.  
"You forget your place, I think. Christine and Raoul are here, and Andre and Firmin, and others who came to hunt you down from all those years ago. They will not hesitate to do it again." She continues her walk to Meg's room.  
"That is why I'm disguised so that no one will recognize me, and as you've forgotten many times," he gives his voice a new and total different disguise. American. "I am a master of voices." She doesn't respond, she only walks. Her head is held a little higher, her posture a little straighten, and her hair is a little grayer. She does not let him get to her, she never has.  
She had to protect this girl, this girl who was beginning her career, and who sweet and still somehow innocent. She was different from the rest,and not just er voice but her ways.  
It was the way she held herself with confidence and always a little air of uncertainty. How she knew very little about life, but you knew that she knew more than she let on. How she learned how to have empathy, and hot sympathy for people. How she was both an adult but a kid Anthe same time. She was conundrum of herself. Wanting to be alive and dead, black and white, cold and warm, all at the same time. Even she didn't know herself well, but she knew we enough to know she was a conundrum.  
It was madame Giry's turn to protect and watch over someone. And she was determined to not let her get hurt.  
"Meg," she said as she entered the room and saw her daughter getting ready for the ball herself, something her mother did not approve of, but through continuous pestering she finally gave in. "I need you to be at Stella's side at all times, even if she dances with someone you must observe them and jeep an eye out." Meg finishes lacing up her gown, slips on a black metal mask and turns to face her mother.  
"You were so opposed, why do you change your mind now?"  
"The past is surfacing." She pulls the ribbon tied rose out of her pocket and Meg gasps.  
"He's returned." She whispered, and her face paled   
"Now, run along, hurry child, do not waste one minute." She shoved Meg out of the door, and the door clicked shut behind her.

§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§

"Christine," Stella beconed. "I must ask, it is a simple child's tail really, but yet I find myself in the middle of questions more and more, never getting a straight answer." Stella had finally been able to return to Christine and talk to her. It had been a good hour, maybe a little more, before she was left alone for good. Although she did have a few people come up and shake her hand occasionally.   
"Go on." She gave Stella a warm smile, encouraging her to go on. The two of them were close, like sisters almost. The only thing Christine had forgotten to mention was the phantom. The opera ghost, or her angel of music. Or how he had almost killed Raoul because he wanted Christine, and how Raoul almost killed him. She forgot to mention just how seductive and manipulative the Opera ghosts voice really was. How his anger always seemed to best him no matter how hard he tried. She had forgotten to mention that at one point she was enchanted by her teacher, and that her teacher had fallen in love with her. A girl, who was at least sixteen years younger than him.  
"Christine, Stella!" Meg interrupted their conversation and came gracefully running towards them.  
"Meg what a wonderful surprise." Christine remarked coolly, and Stella was getting irritated that she was consistently getting interrupted by everyone, or redirected from her question. Something always came up when she got ready to ask, which only caused her more suspicion.   
"I thought your mom wouldn't allow you to this." Stella commented as politely as she could without sounding haste or rude.  
"I manged to let her let me come." Christine grinned and Stella was straight faced, she just wanted answers to her questions, that's it. Hell, she'd even take one answer, she could do the rest of the research latter on her own, but she wasn't going to get one. At least not tonight and not soon.  
"Well, I was hoping to catch up with the three of you over some coffee tomorrow, but seeing as we're all here, why not now?" Everyone agreed, except Stella, she agreed in annoyance, knowing that the dinner they caught up, the sooner she could ask her question.  
Somehow after a few minutes the conversation switched go boys, and to be honest, Stella had no interest, so she zoned out. She looked at them and they were staring Asher in question, waiting for an answer.  
"I'm sorry, what?" She removed her fist from her face to look up at them.  
"Have you met anyone?" Christine pushed, and Meg looked hopeful. She was so young in her search for love.  
"No, I have a past I'm not too particularly fond of and I've not had time in these past years or so to actually look." She replied calmly, and she observed the room. Nothing out of the ordinary, just people dancing, drinking champagne., and walking up and down the grand staircase. Nothing unusual like Christine had warned.  
"You have never dance with a gentleman." No, it wasn't a question it was statement, a fact really. Meg observed, as Stella had not brought up that no had offered their to dance with her.  
"No." It was blunt, and course. Like she didn't care, and that there was no need to dance with a man.   
"Oh, come now, you must dance." Christine encouraged the young woman but she simply refused.  
"Christine?" She tried once more.  
"Yes?"  
"In your letter, you said to report anything unusual."  
"I did."  
"Why?" They froze, the two of them Christine and Meg, right in their spots. Their breath hitched and they ended up holding their breaths. It wasn't until seconds after a man approached the table wearing a black suit and dark blue fabric mask that covered everything except the bottom lip down.  
"Mademoiselle," He bows slightly, a show of respect, and then holds out his hand to Stella. "May I have this dance?" Her friends had suddenly decided that breathing was good, and took a breath.


	3. Twah

"Pardon?" Stella says with a glass of champagne close to her lips. Christine and Meg stare at her. And Meg plucks the glass form her hands and pushes her towards him, and Stella hesitantly took the strangers hand and they walked off onto the ballroom floor.  
"Christine, I must warn you." She turned her big brown doe eyes upon Meg.  
"Of what, what's wrong?"  
"We have reason to believe that he's back." She paled and Completely froze.  
"But he can't be, it's not possible."  
"We found one of his roses this morning, Christine. I'm afraid it is possible."

"Most people love you for your voice, do they not?"  
"Yes, they do not see me. They see my voice and think it beautiful." His voice was calming, a mid range voice that sounded like milk and honey. She could live in his voice, and she would like too.  
"I too, know similar pain." She stares at him, green eyes staring back into her blue ones, green grass on stormy water.  
"How?" The music stopped playing, and they bowed.  
"Shall we talk outside?" He begins and she grabs his arm that he offered to her and they walk out to the balcony. The stars were like tiny little diamonds in the darkness of the night sky. The moon was full and was making everything glow with faint white light, making the garden that stretched out in front of them more beautiful than ever.  
"Your story?"  
"Did you get my rose?" He says distracting her. She grinned.  
"That was you?" He nodded.  
"Thank you, of all the things I've received that was my favourite." She blushed under the pale moon light and looked away hiding her face. They turned so that their bodies faced each other, and he took his pointer and put it under her chin to force her gaze upon him.  
"You shouldn't look away, it keeps away from your beauty." She blushed even more and cast her eyes onto the garden below them.  
"Monsieur, I must thank you for that remark, but I beauty is no more that the average person's." She brought her gaze back up to him and he was stairs g longingly into her eyes.  
"But, you are no average woman. You are, extraordinary." Everytime he spoke highly cause her lack of words and a deeper blush. "I see I have made you speechless, I must apologize."  
"It is I who must apologize, I rarely am found speechless and do not know how to handle this type of situation." He gave her slight smirk, but it disappeared so fast she though she imagined it. She sighed and finally had the nerve to ask the question she'd been wanting the answer to all week.  
"Do you know the story behind box number five?"  
"I do."  
"May I hear it?" He nodded and fled into the story "About six years ago, there was a ghost that haunted the Theatre, and he demanded that box number five remain empty. The one time it didn't, bad things happened. Like their lead singer croaking like a toad." Stella gigged at the news, and was relived to have an answer finally.   
"And why do people not tell me this now?"  
"Some things are better left in the past, don't you think?" She eyes him, his green eyes looking into hers, trying to see her, see who she was.  
"I believe that things in the past should remain buried."  
"Then I believe you have answered that yourself." She smiles and his eyes are on the moon. She couldn't see his face, but she assumed it was beautiful, his personality had to match his face, right? "I must go, and you must get back, you have friends do that are missing you, I'm sure." He walks off, but she calls out to him.  
"Will I see you again." He turns his head and looks over his shoulder.   
"Possibly."  
"How will I find you?"  
"Leave that to me." And not another word was spoken, and all Stella can do is stare. She started at the figure if the masked man that was walking away from her, causing her to crave his presence, his appearance, his conversation, and his smell more. It wasn't enough time, she thought to herself, it will never be enough time if I see him again.  
"So?" Stella takes her seat across from Christine and Meg, and she had a huge grin on her face from the dance. Meg is watching her as Christine is talking to her.  
"So, what?" Stella wipes the grin off her face.  
"How was it, was he charming, handsome, smart?" Meg rambled off.  
"Slow down." She said almost sing-songy. "He was smart, kind alluring, and his eyes were a beautiful green, grass green eyes to be exact, and he was allusive, sly, and he seemed to let on more than he knew." Christine paled.  
"Did you see his face?" Christine asked. Stella show her head no.  
"Does it matter?" Christine composed herself and colour returned to her face.  
"No, not at all." Stella studied Christine, and she could see that she looked scared, if glass fell Stella was sure Christine would yell.  
"Okay, spill."  
"What are you talking about?" Meg asked, and it was now that Christine looked guilty.  
"The two of you are hiding something from me and I want to know what it is." Meg and Christine stole glances at each other, and then look to Stella.  
"We aren't hiding anything." She stares at them, and she clearly tell they were, Christine wouldn't meet her gaze and was staring into her lap and fiddling with her hands. Meg was fidgety, constantly moving, not settling onto one position. Stella leans back into her chair, no longer taking her encroaching position of trying to pin them for their lies. Raoul walks over to the table, and Christine flings herself into Raoul's arms.  
"Christine, what's wrong?" I see her whisper into his ear and his eyes go wide and then recede back to normal, and he nods his head in agreement. "Ladies, we have to go, I'm afraid that Christine isn't feeling good tonight. It was nice seeing you again Stella." He places an arm around her waist and they walk off.  
"If you want to leave, leave now, but I'm going back to my room, I'm done for the night, bit you're going to follow me. If you are, may I suggest you keep quiet, since the two of you are so keen on not letting me in on what happened six years ago?" Meg nodded, and I hastily removed myself and made my way to my room and Meg was close behind me. I walked to my door and my hand on the handle as she waited behind me and an idea formed in my head.  
"You know," I say to her and turn to face her. "I swear I could have heard someone talking to me tonight, except there was no one around. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that would you?" She looked horrified.  
"If I tell you, you meant tell mamann." I nod NY head in agreement. "Six three years ago there was an idea, a being, we thought of him nothing more than a story, but we were wrong." She took a shaky breath and slowly continued. "He was Christine's voice teacher, and he became obsessed, he fell in love with her."  
"Love makes you crazy." I nod in agreement.  
"Yes, well, he became so obsessed that he wrote an opera, made Christine the star and basically got his way with it.   
"We'll, the night it was performed, he took place if the male lead, and then Christine revealed his mask. He had a horrible disgruntled face under that mask.  
"He took her down into his lair, and had set a trap for Raoul." She sighed.  
"You must ask Christine if you wish to learn more on him, I do not know the complete story. I am sorry." She bowed her head and than in a hurry walked down the hall, only to where I could presume was her room. Stella walked into her room, and collapsed on the bed, completely ignoring the white parchment with the red wax seal sitting on her vanity counter. She would wait until tomorrow, before she would even see it, let alone read it.


	4. Quatre

Morning came, but Stella did not wake with the light of the sun, or the noise of the outside, for there were no windows in her room, in fact there were no windows in any of the rooms in the Opera house. They only light was from her gas lamp, and the only nose were of those fixing the stage for the newest Opera to take way.  
The blonde Meg came bursting through the door, not even earning a sigh or the slightest movement from the sleeping Stella.  
"Oh..." Meg smiled and sighed at the sleeping beauty, poor thing had been exhausted from last night, and heaven knew she deserved the rest. She gently sat down on the bed and pulled the hair out of Stella's face.   
Black circles were underneath her eyes from the black paint that was around her eyes, and red was smeared around her mouth. The paint on her face left patches of her skin lighter than others, making her look like some infectious disease had it's deathly fingers around her.  
"Stella." Meg whispered and gently shook her, and her icy blue eyes flung open and then slowly closed them. She turned over and pulled the pillow she was sleeping on, over her head so she could block out Meg.   
A sort of playfulness washed over the your Giry's eyes, as she took the pillow and hit Stella with it across the back, causing her to sit up and yell at Meg.  
"The hell was that for?" She raised her voice towards the young blonde.  
"A lady does not curse." She said and nodded one quick nod, and Stella took the pillow from her and hit her across the face.   
"And I" she acts proper like a princess with her chin held high. "Do not care." She sticks her tongue out at her. Meg caresses the aide of her face, before getting off the bed and pulling Stella with her.  
"Please, just ten minutes more?" She whines, but Meg would have none of that.  
"Come now, you must meet the new Patron, we are counting on you to make a good first impression."  
"I would rather do chores than meet a stuck up rich man who cares only of himself and his money." Meg gets a fire going to warm the room and pulls a bucket of water onto the top of her vanity and hands her a cloth.  
"I won't have it." She shoves the cloth to her, telling her to wash up. "Now wash." Stella does as she's told and quickly washes as the water from the bucket is a day old and almost freezing, giving the poor girl an abrupt wake up. She puts the rag on the side of the bucket and strips from her night dress, leaving her with nothing but underwear. She goes behind the dressing sheet and throws on a simple dress that was white from the waist up, and dark blue from the waist down. Meg came and did her bodice up making sure she had enough room to breathe so that she could sing properly. Stella folded the silk white sleeping gown and headed over to her dresser where there was note sitting on her dresser. She picked it up and turned to Meg.  
"Did you put this here?" Meg turned to see what she was talking about, and as soon as she saw the envelop she paled."Meg, dear, are you alright?"   
"Where did you get that?" She uttered, and she looked terribly frightened.   
"It was just sitting here, on my dresser." She looks to where it was, and Meg snatches it from her hands, and throws it in the fire. "Hey!" Stella cries, and with her fast thinking takes the bucket of water and pours it over the fire and quickly retrieves the envelope. The fire sizzled and smoke filled the room, and warmth was now replaced with a cold chill.  
"Please, don't open that." Meg takes a step closer to her, and Stella takes a step back. "I'm begging you."  
"Why?" Stella holds it above her head.  
"Bad things happen when he sends letters." Stella looked at her like she was crazy, and she could have been if it weren't for her experiencing what had actually happened, if she hadn't taken a part in it. A part in the Phantoms past.  
"Far too many notes for my taste." Meg sings soft and slow, making a haunting tune, rather than an upbeat curious one. Stella Roman her eyes and shakes her head, and her hands pulls out the letter sealed inside of the envelope.

Little Star,  
Congrats are in order for your performance. Bravo.  
O.G.

"Well?" Meg asks.  
"Meg, dear, you worry of nothing. There is one line, nothing more, nothing less." She hands the letter to her, and hesitantly she stakes the letter and reads it.  
"May I take this and show mother?" Stella nods and Meg hurries out the door.

"Mother, mother!" Meg Burt's through onto the stage where Mme. Giry is conducting ballet class. The gaze she gave her daughter was full of daggers.  
"The Patron is to be here within minutes, and is this how you hold yourself Meg?" She stayed her head no, but holds up the letter, and Mme. Giry's brown eyes go wide. She pulls her daughter off the stage and yanks the letter from her hands and reads it several times. "When did she get this?" She hissed at Meg.  
"After the gala, or early this morning, I'm not sure." She whispered. Madame Giry put the letter inside the envelope and put it into a pocket inside of her dress.  
"Our worst fears are coming true." Mme. Giry makes her way back over to the stage as the managers bring out the new Patron to sponsor the Populaire. "Get. Her." She hissed, and Meg runs back to grab Stella, and comes back with a Stella still sleepy eyed, and slightly out of it.  
"Did you even fix your hair?" Meg whispered softly.  
"I didn't have time, I was going too but you pulled me-" Meg started fixing her hair, pulling and curling it with her fingers, giving her hair body to the curls instead frizz. Meg pushed Stella towards the manager and she stumbled up to them and the managers both drew grins on their faces and pulled her into their conversation.  
"May we introduce, our pride and joy, Mademoiselle-" Stella looked to the patron, he was handsome, and he seemed kind.   
His chocolate brown hair slicked back, with ravishing bottle green eyes and full pink lips, complete with a kind and very handsome face. He was, to say the least, every French girls dream.   
Too late did she realize that she knew him. Oh, they knew each other since they were kids.  
They were innocent and young, and it was many years ago now.   
Stella was living with both of her parents on the outskirts of a little town called Roubaix, her father was a professor at the college in the next town over, and her mother worked on clothing from home, allowing her a source of income, and the joy of watching he daughter grow up.  
Just down the road from them lived another family by the last name of Cordac, and they too had a child. He was named Dean. They were merely two years apart, her being the oldest.  
The instant Dean laid eyes on her he fell in love, and everyday they spent together or even saw each other, he was always trying to win her heart.   
He blocked flowers, brought her candies and chocolates, took her on picnics. He did just about everything he could for an eight year old, and nothing seemed to win her over.  
She had her mind set on learning, learning to cook and clean, and sew, the thugs most woman do, bit she wanted more. She learned to read, and ride a horse like a man, to fire a gun, to fight, she was avant-garde, ahead of her time. He did this for four years, until one day her mother fell sick and passed.  
Her father made them pack up and leave their little town, and moved them to a Paris, where he taught for another twelve years before he passed away peacefully in his sleep.   
She hasn't seen the little Dean Cordac for eighteen years and her he stood, handsome as ever, right before her eyes.  
"Celeste Estelle Chantrice." He had a tenor voice, smooth and calming, much like an other man in Paris, but his was voice that comforted her. His eyes sparkled with love, the same young innocent and pure love he had for her when he was younger.  
"You're a Vicomte now?" Her eyes were bugging out of her head.  
"And you changed your name, twice." He smiled and Stella blushed slightly and gave him a warm smile back.  
"One is a stage name, the other to hide my past, of course. I was known for my voice back in our little town. You remember don't you?" She was in a day dream, content and happy.  
"Every Saturday night at precisely seven o'clock, you would sing with your mother while your gather played the piano. How could I forget, it was what the town looked forward too." A bigger smile played at the woman's lips and she ran towards him, embracing him in a hug that had been missing for eighteen years.   
"Oh, my dear, Dean, it has been too long." She says in a trance like state.  
"It appears that Vicomte, once again knows our star." Andre said to Firmin.  
"And we shall let it be, perhaps this time she won't sleep with him since she is our star." Firmin chuckled and they walked off stage leaving the two in perfect company   
"Oh, you must let me take you to breakfast, we have to catch up." Stella turned a deeper shade of red than before and agreed.  
"Mademoiselle." Giry called out to her, and Stella faced the brunette haired lady. "When you get back, we need to talk." Stella nodded and pulled Dean off the stage so they could go eat food and catch up on the years long missed.  
Madame Giry looked to box five and saw a dark figure there, meaning only one person who would be brave enough to be there. Erik, the "phantom" who pulled pranks, made the stars lose their voice, and kill people. She simply nodded to the figure and walked into the hallway with Meg.  
"Mother," Meg began. "If this becomes anything like Christine, this is not going to be good."   
"I have a feeling this one will be different." She pushes Meg down the hall with one hand, in the direction of Christine and Raoul's room. "Go, get them, wake them up." Meg heads down and Giry turns her attention to the opposite direction, the way that lead up to box five. "I hope you see that she already has someone, unlike Christine did. You have not claimed your territory, you cannot do anything rash. She is not, and will not be, yours. Do you understand?" There was no sound, not a whisper of a breeze of a breeze, or the pant of a break. Silence.  
Just pure, and complete silence.


	5. Chapter Five

Stella was escorted to her room by Dean, and they hugged each other a good bye, before she turned to leave for sleep.  
"May I request that we do this again, perhaps tomorrow?" Dean asked, the bottle green eyes piercing her cold stormy blue eyes. She smiled a warm smile at him.  
"I should think so yes, I quite enjoy your company." She started to open her door but he didn't leave. "Goodnight Vicomte." He smiled and walked down the hall and Stella fame crashing into her room, her little heart filled to the brim with joy.  
They had intentionally planned for just breakfast, but had ended up spending the day away, just enjoying each others company.  
She threw herself onto her bed, all sprawled out like, and she sighed contently, a grin creeping into her face.  
"Did you enjoy your day with the Vicomte?" Mme. Giry spoke, her voice strong and commanding, filling the room they were in. Stella rolled onto her side and gazed upon the greying woman, her features hard and cold, and her lips were pressed into a straight line.  
"Oh, it was magical." She said and grabbed her pillow to her chest, hugging it. "He was so sweet, so kind, and handsome." She laid on her back now, gazing up at the ceiling. "I've never seen him so handsome before. It was like a dream come true. Oh, Mme. Giry, I miss the good old days..." she noticed that the older woman had not moved or said anything, and this greatly concerned her. "What's wrong?"  
"We need to talk," she pulls out the letter from her dress and sets it on the vanity behind. "About this."  
"What about it Mme Giry, it is just a letter telling me I did good, no?" She said nonchalantly, and sat up to fave her properly.  
"The affairs of the matter, is what am referring too." Stella grabs her white sleeping gown again, and walks behind the dressing curtain once more to change.  
"Then by all means, let's talk."  
"The topic is not to be taken lightly, it is of the most serious and pressing matter." She stood up and approached her as she came from around the curtain. "You have stuck your nose in places it shouldn't be, and have gone asking to many questions." Stella through her hands in the air as a sign of frustration.  
"That's nice, none of you would tell me the truth, so I had to get my information from some random stranger at the ball last night." She turns around and faces her. "You are supposed to guide me, and answer any questions I have. Why could you not answer me the one I wanted to know?"  
"Sometimes the answers you seek are best left never answered." She raised her head slightly and studied the woman in front of her.  
"Madame Giry," she raised her voice in frustration, and irritability clear in her face, as her brow furrowed and lines appeared in her forehead. "It is secrets that destroy friendship, that destroy family. I would expect you of all people to know that!" She shouts, and not even a second later did she regret what she said and her hand flew to get mouth. Regret and fear ran rampant in her eyes and madame Giry scowled.  
"Secrets keep us, keep you, safe." She narrowed her eyes and sat down in a chair. "They kept this Opera house safe." Stella looked at her pleadingly.  
"No, your secrets are what burned the Opera house down." She spit back and emphasized secrets. This time there was no regret in what she said. There was anger, frustration, and irritability, but no regret.  
"Sit. Down." She motions for the bed and Stella looks to her hesitantly before sitting down.  
"What could you possibly have to tell me that must be kept so secret?" Giry sighed.  
"It was years ago. There was a travelling fair in the city, Gypsies. I was very young, studying to be a ballerina, one of many living in the dormitory of the opera house…"

Giry finished her story, and Stella just stared at her.  
"have hidden him from the world and its cruelty. He has known nothing else of life since then, except this opera house. It was his playground, and now his artistic domain. He's a genius, he's an architect and designer. He's a composer and a magician." Stella composed herself, and breathes deeply.  
"He's lived a life of a recluse because of his face?" She nodded.  
"His own mother made him wear a mask, a sack if you will, ever since he was born. He has known no different." Stella stood up, sudden energy in her step, and paced around the room.  
"So, you're afraid if him because he wears a mask to hide his face?" Stella a hand through her long black curls.  
"No." She shakes her head. "We fear him because of what he can do. He did burn down the Opera house for a woman after all." She leaves herself in front of the elder woman, sitting on her knees she rea he's for Giry's hands.  
"I feel there is more to the story that you are not telling me." Stella's usually warm and comforting eyes, we're now intense and cold. Her eyes were the colour of an ocean on a cold and stormy day; gray, light blue, a bit of green and white, all swirled around brought together by the black hole in the center of the eye.  
"Almost twenty years ago now, a young girl came to live in the Opera house with us, her name Christine Daaé." Stella's eyes filled with shock and horror. Her best friend, a victim of the Opera Ghost. "Her farther promised to send her the Angel of Music when he passed."  
"But it was him wasn't it?" She nodded and continued her story.  
"He tutored her, almost every day, she became one of the best singers I've ever known. As she progressed he became more attached, and he fell in love.  
She fell in love with Raoul, but he wouldn't have that. And so, came the ultimate demise of the Opera Populaire." Madame Giry stood up and walked over to the door. "If you have any further questions, ask Christine. As for the letters and roses, those are from him, I suggest you watch what happens." She opened the door and walked down the hall, the click of her heels slowly fading away towards her room.  
Curiosity ran through Stella, like a train running through feathers. Madame Giry's story only made her more curious, only gave her more questions than answers. She wondered if she could go down and find him beneath the lake, but she didn't know where to start. She was anxious, she wanted to know everything about this mysterious phantom, so much so she was bubbling to to the brim of curiosity.   
She took several deep breaths, trying to calm herself down, but it didn't work. She slipped off her shoes and pulled on one of her darker cloaks and headed out of her room, and down to the stage. It was her best bet if she wanted to learn anything more, or to even see him.  
Her feet made little too no nose as she stepped  
onto the stage and peered out into the seats.  
"I must be honest," she mumbled to herself incoherently. "I feel like an idiot doing this, trying to communicate with the phantom." She chu Klee lightly. "You know, figured out why you call yourself ghost or phantom…" she waits for am answer but no reply comes.  
Up above her on the catwalk, was the man she was trying to speak to, to see. He wouldn't let her, not even if hell broke loose, at least not if he had any choice in the matter.  
"It's scarier than saying the genius who lives in the basement." She smiled to herself, and she grabbed Erik's attention, and he was in a awe of the girl. Completely captivated. He listened closer to her now.  
"Madame Giry told me your story, I hope you don't mind that."  
It was the fact she called him genius, the fact that she saw a genius behind everything he was, behind the phantom, behind the murder. To him, she thought of him as human, a genius, but human. Not a monster.   
She was the first.  
"If you're not going to show yourself, then I shall retire to my room." And she did. She peed off her cloak, changed into her sleeping gown and went to bed.  
It was hours later when he decided that she was in a deep enough sleep that he would approach her.  
Ah, the Prima Donna room. The only spare room at the moment.  
He walked through the two way mirror, and set another letter on her desk, for her to read tomorrow.  
His little star.  
He watched her sleep, the way the world seemed to leave her alone while she slept was like time being altered itself. The Long black curls, blacker than a raven at midnight, her long eyelashes, her barley pink lips, and her rosey cheeks, and pale complexion.   
She was a beauty personified.  
She was a goddess.  
He reached to move hair out of her face and turned to leave, stealing one last look at his sleeping beauty.


	6. Chapter Six

This time when she woke up, it was on her own accords not anyone else's.   
She removed her face from the pillow, leaving her with unwanted creases on her pale complexion. She pulled herself into a siting position, and rubbed her eyes and face from the tight grips of sleep, knowing she had business to attend to, but wanting to sleep More than anything. She looks up and a red rose with  a black tie is on her dresser with another envelope. Her name was written in elegant spider handwriting, the sane handwriting that was on the last one.  
Him.  
She gave a faint smile at the thought, an enigma on top of a mystery. One that she couldn't resist, and her heart beat faster at the thought of him. An infatuation with the Opera Ghost, with the Phantom, a dangerous infatuation really, but it was stronger than it should have been.  
My little secret.  
She snatched the rose and letter off of the dresser greedily. Only two other people knew of these things. The Giry's. And they had seemed, at the moment, unwilling to say anything.

Little Star,  
What a curious child. Would you like to know more? Perhaps at twelve tonight at the stage?  
Yours truly,  
O.G.  
She read it once, twice, thrice, and one more time to be sure that she had read this correctly, to be sure that he in fact want to see her. She smiled a small cit smile, one that an enchantress, or siren of sorts, would smile when they were about to ensure someone in their trap. Stella, was in fact a temptress, siren, what have you, and she was sly and cunning but only to those who got close to her, and this man that intrigued so, was her next victim.  
She would play the game. Cat and mouse. The suspect and victim. A game of emotions and toying with them, a game she was ever so good at. No one knew how good, because anyone who had ever loved her always blamed themselves, she was able to make them think it was never her fault. She would say the right things at the right time, in the right place, and within two weeks she would be single again.   
It was a game, and she was the queen of it.   
She never lost.  
She brought the rose to her nose and smelled it, heavenly was the smell and she sighed.   
She left the note under her pillow and placed the rose back on her dresser, and changed into a lilac day dress and headed to the stage to help the production of the upcoming play H.M.S Pinafore, and she was to help with the set and production of the Opera.  
"You seem distracted." Mme. Giry spoke as she came to stand next to Stella. Stella's blue eyes pierced Mme. Giry warm brown ones, studying her, trying to see what she was getting at. Why she had made the comment she did. Stella turned her attention back to the stage, watching the dancers perform their sets.  
"What makes you say that?" Her already straight posture becomes straighter and more rigid, more statue like. Mme Giry holds up the envelope between her pointer and middle finger, she slowly turns to face Stella, careful not to make any sudden movements as to not draw attention to the two.  
"You've gone through my belongings?"  
"Only because I have reason to believe you're life is in danger." Stella sharply turns her head and narrows her eyes.  
"And that would be why?" She hissed and everyone stops what they're doing to look at the two.  
"Perhaps we should move this conversation elsewhere, as to not draw more attention to ourselves." Stella took a breath and relaxed her body, nodding in approval of the other woman's comment.  
"Get back to work." She snapped at the stage crew, dancers, and other workers that were still staring at them, as she and Mme. Giry walked off the stage and into an empty hallway.  
"You must understand how dangerous this is, your life-" Stella narrowed her eyes.  
"No, Mme. Giry, I don't understand how dangerous this is. Every time I ask about this genius of a man, it as you all very much like to refer to him, a 'ghost', they avoid the question, give a vague answer or change the subject completely. Christine can't speak about it, she pales up and Raoul pulls her away. So, besides falling in love with someone, like all of us do, what has he done?" Her hands and arms our spread out away from her body, and her black hair is hanging over her shoulders. She points a finger at the woman standing in front of her. "And don't say he burned the Opera house down, because I believe there's more to it than that."  
"He murdered Joseph Bouquet, our stage hand." She felt like she had just switched the tides, she thought that now, now she had the upper hand. Little did she know how wrong she was.  
"Mamman, I remember him, Meg and Christine told me of his ugliness, and not his face. He was a dirty, nasty man who had that coming. Has he ever harmed an innocent, and do not bring his past up, his past is exactly that. The past."  
"It is his past, that has made him who he is now. His past still haunts him to this day." Stella gathered her composure, brushed her dress off, put her hair in a bow, and relaxed her jaw. Her body became cold, and unreadable, a position and poise Mme. Giry had only seen once before. When her parents passed.  
"Madame Giry." She begins quietly and somewhat calm. "I would have expected you of all people to be the most understanding. After all, it is our past that has made all of us who we are now. To say that his past still haunts the poor soul, is, in the least, an understatement." She took a deep shaky breath, and clenched her hands together. "I will need time and distance from you, as I do not wish to say anything to you that could damage our relationship further. I will converse with you as a professional, but only when we work together. Until then, goodbye, Madame."  
"I can't let you see him. Once you do, you're lost to him forever." She turns her back to Giry, and looks over her shoulder.  
"Let him play his games, I have mine." She said darkly, and turned to go back to the stage. And madame Giry was left standing by herself in that dimly lit hallway.

Somehow she found herself sitting at a cafe, just far enough away no one would find her, and close enough she could make it back to the populaire in decent time.  
She was physically alone, yes. Mentally, her thoughts were her company, drowning herself them with no way out.  
Why she had acted the way she did to Madame Giry was a mystery in of itself, and even more of one when she defended the phantom. The "Opera Ghost," as he was referred too.

 

He had fallen in love with Christine, yes that was true. And it was also true he hadn't made a true appearance to her. Yet, it was a year ago he had her sing, for the populaire "owners", for Madame Giry, Meg, and Christine. It was then he became intrigued by her, and for once it wasn't just her voice.   
It was her past, simply, that she seemed to be missing exactly that. Her past. Her name was never matching to who she was, so she became a sort of enigma for the genius under the basement.   
Her voice more than heavenly. Yet, her past nonexistent.

 

"Madame?" The waiter said as he stood over her. Her hands on the sides of her face and her coffee and liquor placed in front of her a few inches. "Another?" She nods slightly, and he replaces her cup with another one filled to the brim of warm coffee and little bit of liquor.   
Little did she know that her childhood friend favoured this cafe and was walking to it just now.  
He spotted her immediately, something he had been able to do since he was a kid, and went and sat in front of her, passing the waiter as he went   
"Now, it's the middle of the afternoon and you're having coffee…" He picked the cup up and smelled it. "With booze. “Not very lady like." Her blues eyes turned to look his bottle green ones dead in the eye, and he just smiled.  
"I don't have to be lady like, I'm a goddamned opera singer." She mumbled, almost incoherently. He leans down so his face is level with hers.  
"You shouldn't swear either." Her eyes narrow.  
"You should not try my patience, Vicomte. Especially now, when I'm less in control of my thoughts and actions." She spit out Vicomte like it was poison to her. He rolled his eyes at her.  
"You shouldn't refuse my help, I am your friend after all." She put her hands over her neck and sighed.  
"Yes," She begins in a voice lower than normal, one of her serious voices that few people, except madame Giry of course, ever heard. Her electric blue eyes became more intense, more observational. The young Vicomte wasn't sure if then sudden vibrancy was because of the alcohol, or if her eyes were changing with the lighting, but he found them even more beautiful nevertheless. "A childhood friend of mine, who I've not seen for eighteen years, is suddenly the patron at the Opera house. A place I now work at. Not suspicious at all." He gets up and pulls one of her arms over his shoulder, helping her to her feet, knowing that she wouldn't be able stand by herself with as much booze as she had in her.  
"You can argue with me later, but let's get you home." He pulls her to her feet, leaves money on the table for the waiter and helps her slowly hobble out the door and down to the Populaire.  
He helps her to her room, and sets her down on the bed where she lays across it, now having absolutely no control of her body.  
The booze was in control of her, her body and thoughts, no longer her own.  
"Come on, take your shoes off." He says and she puts her hands behind her head, looks at him and hold her feet up to him. He stares t her, and she bites her lip. "You may be drunk, but you're fully capable of taking you shoes off. You aren't a child." She wiggles her feet, and he sighs and removes them for her.   
"Thanks dad." She looks surprised be her verbage and chuckles widely. "Never had one of those before." He walks to the door and begins to apply pressure to the handle but she stops him. "Where you going pretty boy?" Her tone us so sad, almost depressed. He can feel her disappointment in his chest.   
"Home, so you can rest."  
"Awe, you're no fun."  
"Maybe, but I'm saving you from yourself." He opened the door and slipped out with a quiet goodbye and click of the door closing behind him. Celeste flopped back down onto her bed with a very frustrated sigh and blew loose strands of her hair out of her face.  
"Good thing too," she speaks to herself. "I would've just teased you, never really liked you." She rolled onto her side, but rolled a little further than she estimated and fell onto the hard wooden floor. "Oof."   
She's laying face down on the floor, her nose touching the carpet, and her black hair fanned out around her.  
She tried several times to push herself up, but got nowhere, so she layer there.  
"I'm a world renowned singer, drunk off my arse, unable to get off the floor, and somehow I'm supposed to be lady like." She turned her face, so that a cheek was laying on the ground. She didn't have the physical or emotional energy to get herself up off of the ground, so, Stella being Stella, she decided to make her home there. "I wonder if life would be better if I had someone next to me." She wondered aloud.   
The mirror in her room slid open softly and out stepped the Phantom in all his glory, his black slacks, white under shirt with his dark red  vest and black cloak, and his porcelain mask, the stark contrast to his clothes. Bright white, clean and pure, unlike him of course.  
He hadn't planned on revealing himself to her anytime soon, or really at all, but she was just so... Helpless.  
He wanted to pick her up to put her back on the bed, to comfort her and tell her everything would be all right. He had no other desire than to just be near her, that was it. He wasn't obsessed with her, or in love with her, he simply wanted her friendship. Nothing more.  
She saw two black shoes standing in front of her, and she tried to look up and see who was in front of her, but her hair only fell in a cascade in her face.  
"This," she begins. "Is pointless isn't it?" There came, at first, only silence.  
The figure was unsure of what to do, should he say something or help her? Maybe both?  
"I'm afraid it is, yes." The voice was a baritone tenor voice, silky and smooth. Comforting, hypnotizing, enchanting. Familiar and new.  
He was beside her, helping her to her feet. He was touching her, and she wasn't repulsed by him. Or maybe she was too drunk to care.    
"Thanks." She mumbles and then fails to take a step. Erik catches her, and she looks up to meet his eyes. "Wow." She breathes, staring directly into his clear blue-green eyes. "Your eyes are so..." she's at a lack of words to describe his eyes, and she's so focused in them she doesn't realize he has a mask on. "Mesmerizing." He sits her on the bed so that she doesn't fall off, and she doesn't, she falls back, her head hitting the blankets. Erik gives a quick and mostly silent groan.  
"Must you have *no* motor control over your body?"  
"Yep." She giggles. "Drunk as a bug." Of she had been paying any attention at all, which she wasn't, she would have noticed that she had seen that face before, or at least the lower half that wasn't covered. But no, too drunk to even be suspicious of a man coming out of a mirror, and what his purpose was for being in her room.  
"You should rest, seeing as you are no more than able to talk right now."  
"I'm fine." She says and waves a hand in the air, only to slip off the bed, and end up laying sideways on the floor. "Why are you crooked?" He once again picks her up, but this time he makes sure that her full body is laying on the bed and that she can't simply slide off it. "That makes more sense." She yawns, and he pulls the covers out from underneath and brings them up to her shoulders. He watches as she snuggles into the warmth of the bed, and sighs. He heads over to the mirror, and quietly slips through, leaving the drunk woman to fall asleep and recover from her drinks.


	7. Chapter Seven

Erik stood behind the mirror all night, watching her. Waiting for her to wake up from the several times she had fallen off the bed, and he would wait before he came and placed her back on the bed.  
It was noon by now, and still she had not woken up.  
A deep concern began to grow in the Phantoms chest, wondering if she would wake up, or die of alcohol poisoning.  
Just then the door opened and in stepped Mme. Giry.  
“Stella, get up, we have work to do.” She light candles around her room hoping the light would wake her up, but no luck.  
She approached Stella warily, knowing full well just how much of a bark Stella would have if she felt disrespected or disturbed.  
She laid a hand upon her back and shook her, but still didn’t wake up.  
“Stella!” Another shake, and again, nothing. “Celeste!”  
The mirror slides open and Erik comes in and scoops Celeste up off the bed and begins a quick descent into his lair, with Mme. Giry following close behind.  
“How long has this been her condition, Erik?” Mme. Giry pants, out of breath.  
“Since the Vicomte brought her back.”  
“Can you help her?” A long silence.  
“If I’m not too late, I can.”  
The reach the beach and he doesn’t stop, not even a hesitation. He just charges through into the freezing water to his lair on the other side.  
He sets her down in the swan bed and rushes into the other room for medicine and herbs, and comes back with an armful of bottles.  
He lays them on the night stand next to her.  
“Madame Giry!” Madame giry gets out of the boat and rushes to to his side. “Open her dress while I prepare this medicine!” Giry takes off the corset and takes a knife to the fabric to tear it open, and Erik is next to her preparing medicine for Stella.  
He rubbed a black spread across her stomach and chest, that had mint and charcoal and other ingredients in it to help the alcohol rid itself from her system.  
“I never realized that she was a heavy drinker.” Mme. Giry responds as she steps back and watch’s Erik work upon Stella, that maybe his knowledge would, for once, save a life instead of kill.  
“People are not inclined to speak of their demons, Madame. Especially when being criticized for it in the first place.”  
“I have not criticized her for-“  
“I do not care, Madame. But I ask that you leave so I can do my work and perhaps bring her back from the clutches of death.” His voice is angry and still he does not turn around, but continues to work on Stella.  
Madame Giry goes to open her mouth but quickly shuts it and walks away, leaving Erik to do his work on Stella.  
He hears her footsteps fade away, and when he can no longer hear the lightly placed steps of Madame Giry, he lets out a sigh of relief.  
“She means well, but sometimes she does more harm than help.” And a breath finally found a way through Stella’s body. Erik quickly picked her up and brought her over to the shore so that she could empty her stomach when the time came for her to do so.  
Another breath, and a short cough.  
And then finally she rolled onto her side and began her upheaval of the alcohol.  
He watched her from above and stumbled back and sat down on the bench that went to his piano.  
He was in awe of her, the beauty of this woman in front of him. Hurling alcoholfrom her stomach.  
The beauty of a woman he just brought back from the brinks of death.  
And her name, Celeste.  
An old childhood friend that he had forgotten about.  
A name of an angel.  
His first muse.  
His first love.

 

It had been many years ago now, he was ten and she was eight. She had the voice of an angel, and it had always inspired him. Always.  
Granted he was never allowed to go outside of his room he could hear her sometimes when she would sing to herself, when she was sent to the market to good food.  
The voice of an angel.  
His first and only muse.  
Celeste Estelle Chantrice.

 

He wanted her to remember, but she was most likely to forget the little boy she once helped save so long ago.


End file.
